


SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK

by dnfsinner



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Boys In Love, Consensual Sex, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Drista mention, Emotional Sex, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Makeup Sex, Morning After, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Prom, Size Difference, Sleeping Together, Sloppy Makeouts, Smut, Soft Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Song fic, Song: SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK (Joji), They miss each other a lot, Top Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), agaga anyway, again it's for 0.3 seconds, dreamnotfound, it wasn't supposed to turn out like this, no beta we die like men, read the notes, the ending is so cute, there is a slight mention of angst but it's for 0.3 seconds, they’re in love your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29949756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnfsinner/pseuds/dnfsinner
Summary: After a messy breakup and months of longing, two hearts find their way back to each other, leading to a night full of moans and emotions.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 295





	SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK

**Author's Note:**

> hi :D the author here to say the usual--if the cc's say they are uncomfy, this will be taken down.
> 
> anyway, so back again with an almost 5k word fanfic full of homosexuality :) this went COMPLETELY different than how i wanted it to go-aka i wasn't originally going to make them do the deed but i found out idk how to write literally anything else and decided, fuck it. so here. 
> 
> i am sooo uncomfortable with writing anal sex bc it makes me all buggy and feels gross, but i managed. so if the actual sex part seems rushed that's why. 
> 
> ANYWHO... follow my twitter? ( @dnfsinner ) i post updates and snippets of writing that are in the works. other wise, enjoy reading :)

George brought his cup of fruit punch up to his lips, sipping the liquid tentatively. 

It tastes sour on his tongue, and he turns his nose at the putrid smell. It is definitely laced with cheap vodka, the alcohol overtaking the actual taste of the punch. 

“Yuck,” He mutters, setting the cup on the decorative table. 

  
  


The soft-rock playing over the gymnasium speakers partially drowns out the noisy chatter of high school students. 

Catie, George’s younger sister, somehow convinced him to chaperone her prom. Her powers of persuasion seem to be spectacular as George downright  _ refused _ to come multiple times. Partially for the fact that his ex-boyfriend was sure to be here.

And, he was right. 

George had locked eyes with Dream way too many times for comfort tonight. And he wonders if Dream’s sister had also made him come. 

Catie and Drista are best friends—practically inseparable. That is, moreover, how George and Dream met. All of the back and forths between houses and late-night calls, wondering  _ where the hell has my sister gone?,  _ only to figure out, she had just snuck off to Drista’s. 

The two girls, however, just  _ had  _ to catch on to the lingered glances and touches. And because of that, they tried their damn hardest to hook the two up. 

  
  


_ “Look, George,”  _ George remembers his sister telling him one August afternoon.  _ “I don’t give a damn if he doesn’t act like he's interested, I’m telling you, he is.” _

He had told her,  _ “Fine, but if this all goes to shit, it’s your fault.” _

  
  


Well, all-in-all, their confessions sparked a two-year-long relationship. However, things had soon taken a dramatic turn, which overall came to the end of their relationship—and it didn’t end on a good note.

If anything, Dream, and George’s break up affected the two girls; George would refuse for Drista to come over and vice versa. This went on for a good month before he eventually gave in.

_ He didn’t want any reminders of what  _ **_used_ ** _ to be. _

  
  


George sighs, adjusting the cuffs of his baby blue dress shirt. He wants to go home, wrap himself up in puffy blankets, and sleep.

Eyes gaze through the crowd, looking for any trace of his sister. He hopes she’ll be tired enough to go home—instead, his gaze lands on Dream, who is already looking back at him. 

Dream leans against the gym’s concrete walls, an accessorized hand wrapped around a small, red party cup—or it looks small. He glances at the rings that delicately rest on his fingers to the frail silver bracelet on his wrist.

_ Of course,  _ he thinks.

Even though the gym is dimly lit, George could make out the bracelet’s chain-like design. Of course, Dream still wears their matching bracelets—albeit George did too, so he wasn’t in any position to judge.

He trailed his gaze up. Dream’s sleeves were ridden up to his elbows, exposing veiny attributes, and a few buttons of his white dress shirt were undone. Messy, but adequately acceptable for an event like this one.

A small smile rests on Dream’s lips; he notices George checking him out—if you could even call it that. 

George quickly looks away, flushing embarrassingly, the original plan of finding his sister blown out the window. 

  
  


And it’s almost as if this fucking high school hates him because a familiar song emits from the speakers. 

_ God fucking damnit.  _

It was their song. 

  
  


When the melody hit his ears, his eyes shot back over to where Dream was standing, but he wasn't there. With a disheartened feeling bubbling in his chest, he sinks back in his chair, the lyrics molding their way into his heart.

  
  


_ I don’t want a friend. _

_ I want my life in two.  _

  
  


He stares at the vinyl flooring. Their first kiss happened during this song. Since then, it was just  _ their song.  _

Their first kiss was meaningful and connected with the song, but now it’s just a painful reminder of what used to be. It leaves a hole in George’s chest.

  
  


_ When I’m around slow dancing in the dark. _

_ Don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms.  _

  
  


It’s been four months, and he hates how he still longs for Dream to wrap his arms around him and hold him and keep him safe. 

He wants it again, but after what happened—how he accused Dream of cheating on him with some blonde chick—he doesn’t think he can have it. 

In a way, it’s almost depressing. 

  
  


“Hey,”

A voice chimes from beside George, knocking him from his thoughts. It’s Dream; he knew his voice anywhere. 

He’s stood beside George’s chair, a minimal distance away but still reasonably close, with a hand tucked in his pocket. 

“I uh, here’s some normal punch, since you know, the...the um, the punch is laced.” Dream hands him a cup, almost shy with his actions. 

George takes it, mumbling a small “Thank you.” 

“I-I know you don’t like alcohol, so I asked for some punch out of a new jug.” He scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit George had noticed over the years. 

He smiles up at the blond man. “That’s really considerate of you, Dream. I appreciate it.” 

An awkward fog casts over. It’s been months since they’ve talked to one another, let alone seen each other in person. 

It's weird but oddly comforting to be in the presence of Dream again. And it feels like the hole in George’s heart has been filled. 

  
  


Dream breaks through the tension, “Would you like to dance? After all, our song is playing.” 

George looks out to the dance floor, noticing couples slow dancing to the song—ironic, hence the name. 

“This isn’t the type of song you’d typically slow dance to.” He says, turning his head back to Dream. The blond looks discouraged. 

“Oh,”

George doesn’t have to think twice about his answer. “But yes, I’d love to dance, Dream.” 

Dream’s face lights up, and George is back to the first time they met. He had that same innocent-looking expression as if he had never done wrong in his life when they first were introduced to one another.

The blond extends a hand. “Then let’s do it.” 

After setting his drink down, George is being pulled from the metal chair. He swears he can feel the electricity jolting through his arm from the feeling of Dream’s hand in his own.

Hand’s tentatively intertwine while another goes to rest on the small of George’s back, and then—

Then the song ends, but another heart-ridden melody is playing— _ A Thousand Years  _ by Christina Perri.

  
  


“I’m starting to believe this school knows everything about our songs.” George teases, feet falling into a quick, slow rhythm. 

Dream tips his head. “I don’t think it’s that.” He quips, pulling George closer to his chest. “Drista asked me to give her our playlist a while back, saying she had some sort of plan...which I guess was this.”

They lock eyes. George can easily spot the small golden flakes of brown in the whirlpool of green. “Figures.”

He knew it wasn’t some random coincidence.

  
  


The song plays on.

_ I have died every day waiting for you. _

_ Darling don’t be afraid.  _

_ I have loved you for a thousand years. _

  
  


“Your hands are still soft.” Dream states, cautiously rubbing a thumb on the top of George’s hand. 

George retorts, “Thank you, you still wear our bracelet.” 

“You don’t?”

George lets out a sharp sound, indecisive. “I do, just not out. In case I ever ran into you.” 

It was truthful. During the past three months, George only wore the bracelet when he was in the comfort of his bedroom. Or whenever he missed Dream so much, all he could do was break down and cry, revisiting all of the memories they had. Sometimes even screaming regrets into his pillow on how  _ he fucked up majorly. _

  
  


“I didn’t want you to know I missed you, that’s all.” George continues, his voice on the edge of breaking. 

Dream quirks his brow. “You...miss me?” 

“Yeah,” George tilts his head. “I’ve had time to realize that you had your things going on, and I just...I just didn’t see that you couldn’t make any time for anything else.” He averts his gaze and continues—

“I should’ve never accused you of cheating on me when I knew you weren’t.” There’s a lump building in his throat, and his eyes are becoming watery. “So I’m very sorry for that.” 

Dream shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry, George. I should’ve made time for you no matter what I was going through.” The conversation ends there.

  
  


As they dance together, it’s almost as if everyone else doesn’t matter anymore—they don’t exist. It’s just George and Dream, slowly swaying to the tune as the world crashes down around them. 

_ And George is finally at peace again.  _

George rests his forehead on Dream’s chest, pulling his hand from the other to wrap his arms around his torso. 

_ He’s at peace with his mind. _

  
  


“I missed this.” Hums George, allowing himself to speak his thoughts. He feels content within himself, a missing puzzle piece falling back in place to repair his broken soul. He’s felt so lost without Dream these past few months.

Dream nuzzles his chin in the fluffy brown hair of the other. He drew a breath in and let it settle. “Me, too.” It’s barely above a whisper, but George hears it. 

“Do you think we could be like before?” He asks, soft-spoken. 

George hopes they could be. He has only just gotten back to the comfort of Dream’s arms, and he doesn’t think he can live in the presence of tomorrow without him. 

Their movement stops, Dream pulling away slightly, and George thinks,  _ did I do something wrong? _

“You mean that?” Dream looks down, and George wishes to drown in those peridot eyes forever and ever. 

George simply nods. “This night, though we haven’t been here long, clears things up for me.” He swears he can see a spark ignite behind Dream’s eyes. 

They stay like that for a moment, both men getting lost in each other’s eyes—and now, the music is practically gone, drowned out. 

Dream’s large hand comes to cup George’s cheek, the latter leaning into the gentle touch instantly, almost on instinct. “I think we could.” Dream says, shifting his gaze to and from George’s lips multiple times. 

Dream’s thumb swipes tentatively across his cheekbones, feeling the softness of his complexion he always adored. Red and green stage lights pass over his pale face, making him seem colorful.

George almost purrs—his skin prickling in satisfaction. He has always been sensitive to touch. “I think we could, too.”

He drags Dream’s hand away, pressing them together, and smiles at the size difference; he’s always loved how their hands' slot together perfectly—like puzzle pieces.

They meet eyes, and George swears he’s, once again, lost in Dream’s eyes—he can never seem to tear his gaze away from the green pool that calls for him. It almost feels like a dream. 

They don’t realize when the soft music fades out, replaced with an upbeat rhythm. It’s just them, in the middle of a crowded gym, with feelings that never fluttered away erupting between them. 

Dream begins to say something, but George abruptly cuts him off. “I don’t care, just kiss me.” 

And what kind of man is Dream to deny such a request?

The kiss is sweet, tender, almost exactly like the first time, and it makes George’s head spin. It feels like something out of a Teen Love story. 

Oh, how he has missed this. 

“This is going to sound completely out of context,” Dream starts, pulling away. “But, uh...can we get out of here? I’d kind of like for us to have privacy.” 

George giggles. “Dream, taking me home already? How naughty of you.” He teases, taking out his phone. 

He quickly shoots a text to Catie, telling her he’d be leaving early with Dream and for her to take Drista home with her. He shoves the phone back into his pocket, pulling on Dream’s hand. 

“Let’s go then.” 

-

Dream drags George into the comfort of his home, the latter gazing with gentle admiration as he closes the door behind them. Words cannot fathom how happy George feels at this moment.

“It hasn’t changed much since the last time you were here.” Dream states, nervously rubbing his nape. “But we did get a new living room set.” 

George hums, dragging his hand across the top of the velvety-like couch. “Where are your parents?” 

“Uh...I think they're out on a date?” He says as they kick their shoes off.

The brunet settles himself on the cushions, motioning for Dream to do the same. Though it isn’t his house, he feels at home—mainly as Dream is here with him. 

“Does your room still have those ugly green walls?” George questions, hoisting a leg up on the couch to face Dream. 

Dream chuckles, picking at his nails. “No, it doesn't.”

The Brit stares at him quizzically, noticing his nervous behavior. He reaches out his hand and places it atop of Dream’s bigger ones, stopping his motions. 

“Stop it. You’ll ruin your nails.”

Dream looks up at him, eyes wide and innocent. And before he could respond, George impulsively plants himself in Dream’s lap—not even thinking. 

The blond seems stunned, and George is quick to ask, “Is this okay?” to make sure he was comfortable. Dream nods in response. 

George places his hands on Dream’s shoulder as the other’s hands go to rest on his hips. There’s a sincere smile that rests upon both of their faces. 

“You’re so beautiful, George.” Dream whispers, loving the deep red flush of the brunet’s delicately freckled cheeks. He reaches up, cupping the face of the older. 

George keens, rubbing his cheek against the calloused hand. “Thank you.” He hums. 

  
  


They don’t know how or when it happens, but soon enough, their lips are pressed together in a sweet kiss. It’s more wanton this time around—much different than before. 

All of the lonely nights and secret longing flush forwards and presents itself on an ungodly-like podium. 

George presses harder, hitching a small gasp when the blond pinches his hip.  _ Don’t be too desperate;  _ it seems to hint. 

The podium standing firm in its place, unyielding. 

Dream pulls back slightly, feelings giddy when George tries to chase his lips. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Because—”

“Yes.” George interrupts, pressing closer to Dream’s chest. “I want this. Please.”

The blond’s mouth twitches in excitement. “Really? I don’t think make-up sex is the best way to get back together.” He teases, fingers working to unbutton and untuck George’s shirt.

“I don’t care, Dream. I wanna do this. I need it.” George begs beautifully. He stops momentarily. “Unless you would rather not, I don’t want to force you into something.”

Dream chuckles, opening the flaps of the shirt, exposing George’s pale, unmarked torso. “Of course I want this, baby.” The brunet almost flinches at the nickname. “I haven’t gotten any action in months.”

“Good.” George smiles sweetly, tantalizing, and leans back slightly, almost as if he was dangling food in front of a starving lion. There’s a glint in his eyes that can only label as pure and utter lust. 

While maintaining eye contact with Dream, he shuffles out of his shirt, the delicate fabric falling gracefully from his shoulders to the floor. It should be a sin—how enticing George looks teasing the blond.

“God,” Dream groans, raking his eyes over the beautiful skin. “You’re so pretty, George. Holy fuck.”

The pressure of George’s ass pressing against the more sensitive parts of Dream’s lower half had his mind hazy. There was nothing that George wanted more than the man he was straddling. 

The brunet drags himself down to his knees, the other’s legs pliantly spreading to make room for his thin body. 

George runs his hands up and down the fabric that fits tightly around muscular thighs before trailing to his belt. 

He could see the younger’s chest heaving—can  _ feel  _ Dream’s eyes staring down at him with darkening intent. 

As he undoes the belt, the gentle - _ click-  _ ringing in their ears, he looks up, meeting green eyes. 

Dream was aching in his pants—literally and metaphorically. And George...well, George was taking his sweet ass time unzipping his pants. 

He’s tempting Dream, that much is blatantly obvious—though, George has always had a thing for temptation, no matter how vanilla the sex is. 

“Please, George.” Dream hisses as the older helps him out of his pants, tossing them on the couch. 

The bulge in his underwear grows stiffer as the seconds pass by, a small wet spot forming from precum. 

George smiles again, tongue darting out to lick at the spot. 

Dream is overwhelmingly sensitive, partially for the fact that he hasn’t had sex in a while, nor has he done much to himself—he’s spent the last few months wallowing in despair rather than jacking off. (He tried once and all he could do was cry after.) 

He groans, tilting his head back as George dragged his tongue along the length of his clothed cock.

The pleasure is sanctifying, and it grabs Dream by his throat, squeezing small gasps out of him as it filters through his blood. 

“Unbutton your shirt,” George whispers, diving his fingers under the elastic band. 

Dream lifts his hips, allowing for the older to pull the fabric down his legs while his hands are busy fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. 

He shivers when delicate fingers wrap around the base of his cock, his brain short-circuiting momentarily. 

George taps the tip against his tongue, making Dream snap his head down to look at him. He uses his free hand to guide Dream’s hand to his hair. 

“Don’t be shy, Dream.” 

His hands tentatively tighten in brown locks—not too tight, but not too light, and George keens, lapping at the underside of Dream’s cock. 

Dream gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “God, George…”

George has experience; Dream knew that. But that experience mixed with his knowledge of knowing which parts of Dream were extensively sensitive drove him crazy.

The Brit suckles lightly at the tip, swirling his tongue around it, swallowing the salty taste of precum. Pulling back, he delivers sweet kitten licks, looking up at Dream with a cocky smirk before going down, slowly taking more and more of Dream into his mouth.

George relishes in the soft moans that escape Dream’s throat—it pushes him further. Big hands grip harshly in his hair, forcing him down until his nose situates at Dream’s pelvic. Flatting his tongue, George stays there for a moment, letting Dream feel the tight heat of his mouth.

As he pulls back, he grazes his teeth along the underside of Dream’s cock—something George knew would drive him crazy.

Dream gazes down at him, fully processing how utterly erotic George looks sitting between his legs. He lets his hand falter, replacing it under George’s chin, and stares at him in awe. 

Everything he’s felt the past four months—anger, sadness, regret—rushes forward in one simple emotion—lust. 

_ Fuck it, _ Dream thinks and smashes their lips together, the small gasp George let out being muffled instantly.

It’s rough, needy, and George is slipping fast, becoming pliant in Dream’s grasp. And before he knows it, he’s hoisted back into Dream’s lap. 

He whines into the kiss, rolling his hips as an indirect request for Dream to touch him, to which he’s met with a dark laugh.

“What is it, baby?” Dream whispers, planting open-mouthed kisses to George’s neck, biting softly at the flesh. “Tell me.” 

The Brit gasps, eyes rolling back into his head. “Touch me, Dream. Please, I deserve it.” He rolls his hips again, whimpering at the feeling of Dream pressing against his ass. 

The blond hums, hands finding their way to George’s belt, quickly undoing the latches. His finger brushes against the other’s noticeable bulge, George unconsciously bucking his hips. 

_ “Please.” _ George whimpers almost pathetically. 

“Patience, darling.” Dream reprimands, suddenly becoming aware of where they were. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

  
  


They make their way to Dream’s bedroom, the younger placing the Brit on plush bed sheets. 

He grabs an overused bottle of lube from the bedside table, dropping it on the bed as he perches himself between Geroge’s legs. 

Once he peels the final fragment of clothes from both him and George’s body, he takes a moment to stare. 

The man below him was the literal definition of perfect. His body’s red flush juxtaposed with his pale complexion, his cheeks painted beautifully with a pink blush that cascades down his neck. His cock leaks a small pool of precum onto his stomach, the length twitching with want.

Dream can’t help himself when he leans down and kisses the older’s torso, marks George with red bites that will turn a violet purple come sunrise. 

He’s always loved marking the other. It showed others that George was his—George’s body, heart.  _ It was all his and no one else’s.  _

  
  


_ Mine, mine, mine. _

  
  


George whines when the blond laps his tongue around rosy buds, flicking the perky nipple. God, this is going to be the death of him, isn’t it?

“Dream, please.” He mumbles, mind flooding over with traces of hunger. He can’t think straight anymore; all he wants is more. 

When Dream pulls away, he sees how utterly fucked out George looks. He brings a hand to George’s mouth, feeling content when it pliantly opens up, and warmth is wrapped around middle and ring fingers. 

Pressing down on the wet muscle, Dream watches as his fingers disappear down to the knuckles in George’s mouth. 

His cock twitches, reminding him of how  _ needy  _ they both were and how neglected George must feel, having not been touched yet. 

He pulls his fingers out and reaches for the lube that had been previously forgotten about, squeezing a decent amount onto spit-coated fingers. 

A finger ghosts at the tight muscle, George gasping from the coldness of the substance. 

“You ready?” Dream mumbles, letting George have a window of opportunity to back out; however, he doesn’t, encouraging Dream to press a finger in. 

Dream notices how tight he is, wondering if George had also halted his sexual activities the past few months. 

He fingers George slowly, making sure it’s not uncomfortably painful. George twists his face in pleasure, fervors of lust pumping through his body, his hips pushing down on Dream’s hand. 

“You okay, George?” 

The brunet feverishly nods his head, a gasp falling from his throat when Dream barely brushes his prostate. “Please,” He begs, looking at the younger with pleading eyes. “More, Dream. I...I need more.”

Dream smiles, a sadistic feeling bubbling through his bones. God, how he wants to  _ ruin  _ George until he screams—until he’s torn between wanting more and wanting to stop. But that would have to wait. Right now, Dream just wants to give George everything he’s ever wanted in the world.

So he adds another, the older almost begging for another within seconds.

George moans beautifully, pleas for Dream to go faster, falling from his mouth. 

_ Faster… _

_ Harder… _

_ More… _

  
  


It was almost embarrassing how quickly George was coming close to the edge of breaking—whining when Dream pulls his fingers out, the emptiness feeling horrid.

“Please, Dream. Want your cock.” He mumbles, so deep within this headspace which consumes him whole. 

Dream lathers a reasonable amount of lube along the length of his cock, shuddering in his fist from the contact. When George whimpers, silently begging for him to hurry up, he smirks. 

“Be patient.” He demands but still gives in, pushing George’s thighs apart and slowly presses the head of his cock past the rim. “Jesus fuck…” He breathes. “How the hell are you so tight?” 

George tries to pull away, the stretch burning slightly, but Dream holds him in place, an indirect demand that says,  _ stay put and take it.  _

Dream  _ knows  _ he likes the stretch. He knows that it doesn’t bother him as much as he’s letting on. 

The blond groans, watching the way his dick disappears inside of George. Fuck, he took Dream so well, so perfect. 

Dream stills his hips once he’s in, letting George adjust to the feeling he hasn’t had in a while. 

“Tell me—”

“Move, please.” George whines, circulating his hips. Dream obeys the poor boy’s wishes, slowly moving out before pressing back in. 

George whimpers, feeling the drag of Dream’s cock along his walls, how he stretches so good for the other. And all he wants is more. “H-Harder…” He wraps his legs around Dream’s torso, pulling him further inside.

Dream lets his head fall on the Brit’s shoulder, letting the pleasure rake through his body as he thrusts his hips inside George, going harder and harder with each movement. 

In a particularly rough thrust, George yells out. “Right there?” Dream asks, looking down at the other. George nods, blabbers words that sound something along the lines of  _ yes  _ and  _ please.  _

With a triumphant smile, Dream pulls back and suddenly slams his hips down, making George shout, swears falling from his pretty red lips. He snaps his hips again—

  
  


_ One… _

_ Two… _

_ Three… _

  
  


George’s thighs begin to tremble, falling from where they were wrapped around Dream. The blond throws George’s left leg over his right, squeezing them together, and thrusts harder, the positioning allowing Dream to strike the bundle of nerves with every draw of his hips. 

The brunet’s moans get louder and louder; Dream’s name dares to fall from his lips every time he feels the blond‘s cock jabbing his prostate until Dream’s name is all he knows how to say. 

Dream gasps, hips stuttering as his orgasm approaches quickly. “Fuck, Georgie. You’re so good for me…” 

He grabs the boy by his jaw, forcing their lips together in a sloppy kiss that neither of them could catch up with. 

Dream feels George tighten around him, signaling he was close. 

“You close, darling?” Dream moans. George can only whine, the best form of  _ ‘yes’  _ he could make out. 

“Cum for me, baby.” He growls, pride blooming throughout his chest as George finally breaks, legs spasming as he cums pathetically, untouched. He swallows the needy moans, hips finally slowing to a stop as he fills George up with his seed. 

Dream watches as the cum practically leaks out of George, the sight almost breathtaking when he pulls out. 

Heavy breathing fills the room, both men coming down from their lustful highs. How did the night lead to this? Who knows, but all Dream and George knew was that they were finally together again. 

  
  


George’s voice breaks Dream from his trance. 

“D-Dream?” George tries to wiggle his hips out of view, slightly embarrassed. 

“What?” A smile forms on his face. “I just fucked you, and  _ now  _ you’re embarrassed?” 

The Brit rolls his eyes, pulling Dream down next to him by his wrist. “Shut up.” He grumbles, the two of them slipping under the covers. 

“We need to clean up, baby.” Says Dream, letting the older cuddle up next to him. 

“We can do it in the morning. I wanna sleep.”

Dream chuckles but doesn’t say anything back, just kisses George on his head as they both drift off to sleep.

Comfortably in love, I’d say. 

-

Sunlight cascades from a window, tousling Dream from his slumber. A soft grunt is pulled from his throat, feeling the warmth that eloped beside him. 

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know who it is. 

Dream hums, voice low and thundery. “Good morning, baby.” Arms tighten around the frail body he holds. 

George nuzzles his head into Dream’s chest, muttering a good morning back. “You feel okay?” Dream asks.

“Yeah, just a little sore.” Dream chuckles at that, kissing the top of George’s hair. 

It almost feels like his heart is smiling. “I love you so much, George.”

“I love you, too, Dream…” There’s a small pause. “I’m glad we’re back together.”

Dream softens, finally opening his eyes to look down at the older in their awkward position. He smiles, content, joyous, and he knows somewhere in the back of his head that this—their relationship, them…

It’s forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @dnfsinner
> 
> constructive criticism is appreciated.


End file.
